


The Evening Shift

by Flantastic



Series: Devotion [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Disability, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: James Bond, from three different perspectives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holidays are great. Lazing around today I found another little piece that has been languishing in my WIP folder for far too long. This is set in the Devotion AU, some time between "This Is Our Beginning, Coming To An End" and "I'm Right Where I Belong".

**  
**

**_ Eugenie _ **

Nurse Eugenie Peterson sat on the reception desk of MI6’s medical department and flicked through the latest copy of OK that was resting on her lap.  She wasn’t supposed to have magazines whilst covering the front desk but she’d done her early evening rounds already and she couldn’t see the harm.  She’d been with MI6 for three months now, headhunted from her role at the Royal Marsden Hospital, and knew when she could get away with bending the rules.  It was pretty much whenever there wasn’t a doctor watching and as the only doctor on duty that night was Conroy, she was currently too busy to bother her.

There were only three patients actually being kept overnight in the department.  Dexter, 003, had been shot whilst out on mission and had been in their ICU for two days now.  There was a specialist nurse in with him.  Then there was one of the technicians from Operations, Dawkins.  The idiot had managed to fall down the stairs and was being kept under observation for suspected concussion.  It was a simple task to go in every hour, wake the man up and see if he knew what his name was, who Prime Minister was and such but Conroy was apparently not interested in such a basic task so that had fallen on Peterson to deal with it.  Conroy was currently far too busy fussing over the third patient, Q.  The Quartermaster had been brought in that morning with an upset stomach.  Peterson personally thought it was a bit much, using the MI6 facilities for a tummy bug but Conroy had apparently taken pity on him.

Peterson checked her watch – Dawkins was due for his next assessment in ten minutes.

It rankled her actually, when she thought about it, that the Quartermaster was getting preferential treatment.  She didn’t know if it was because he was a department head or disabled but it did annoy her.  Conroy had been in with him since before Peterson had started her shift at four.  She had met him a couple of times since she’d begun working there and he seemed nice enough but if he couldn’t even cope with a stomach ache maybe MI6 should’ve considered replacing him with someone a bit more able-bodied.

She turned the page and spotted an article on the announced engagement of a couple of well-known television stars. The two men had starred in a show together for a several years before falling in love and coming out to the world.  Bloody faggots.  They were everywhere these days.  Such a waste.  She used to like their show but she wouldn’t be watching it now…  She turned to the next article in disgust.  She saw it was the photos of a celebrity wedding that she was particularly interested in. A photo spread from the issue a few weeks before had highlighted how huge the intended bride had looked on the beach in her bikini.  She was apparently aiming for a size ten wedding dress and Peterson wondered with a kind of vicious glee whether the fat cow had managed to slim down enough to fit into it.  She debated whether she should save the article for when she got back from checking on Dawkins.  Perhaps she could get a cup of coffee on the way… she jumped as the twin doors to the department flew open.

“Where is he?”

Agent 007 strode up to the desk and for a split second she could’ve sworn he was brandishing a gun.  Every inch of his demeanour screamed tension.  He was filthy.  His once beautifully tailored suit was torn and muddy.   A long trail of dried blood smeared down the side of his face and his knuckles were cut and bruised.  After her initial shock and anger that he’d startled her, she bristled at his rudeness.

“Mr Bond, isn’t it?  I’m afraid Doctor Kressler has finished for the day.  If you’d like to sit and wait I will inform Doctor Conroy that you’re here.”

She’d read some kind of SOP when she’d first started at MI6 that said all Double 0 agents should immediately be referred to a doctor when arriving at the department, but this one didn’t look badly hurt and there was no reason for him to be uncouth. Bond pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced.  Without looking up he slowly spoke.

“Listen to me you stupid cow.  I am not here to see a bloody doctor.  I am here to see the Quartermaster so please; where is he?”

She rankled at his insult and drew herself up, annoyed that he was treating her like some kind of idiot.

“Q is being seen to by the doctor at the moment.  It is almost ten o’clock and no longer visiting hours.  I’m sorry Mr Bond but you’ll have to come back tomorrow at two o’clock.  If you like I’ll be happy to look at your injuries for you myself before you leave.”

Bond stood stock still for several seconds, his piercing blue eyes boring into her like she’d grown two heads.  He lightly rested his hands on the front of the desk and leaned forward until he was looming over her.

“I’m going to say this once and if I’m not in the same room as Q two minutes after I’ve stopped talking I will personally see to it that you spend the rest of your working life emptying bed pans.  I have just spent the last twelve hours getting here from the arse end of central Europe.  I am tired, hungry and really not in the mood to piss about with a girl who obviously hasn’t bothered to read her patient’s notes properly.  If you had, you would realise that I am not ‘Mr’ Bond.  I am ‘Commander’ Bond and I am listed as next of kin for ‘Mr’ Bond, my husband, the Quartermaster.”

She looked up at him and knew she wasn’t quite able to marshal the look of disgust which flitted across her features.  Bond had a reputation for being a womaniser but she didn’t realise he slept with men as well.  And with a disabled man?  She couldn’t think of anything worse.  Bond narrowed his eyes at her, reading her face.  He straightened up abruptly.

“We’re done here.”

Pushing himself away he strode straight to the doors which led to the private rooms.  They were locked and could only be opened by a key card or a command from the computer on the reception desk.

“Open them.” He ordered, his hands balling into fists.  He looked furious.

Now bristling at his audacity and apparent lack of respect for the authority she had over him in her department, Peterson instead pushed the panic button beneath her desk which would summon security.

“Commander Bond.  I can’t do that.  You’re not authorised to go in there.  Move away from the doors.”

Instead of answering her he raised his leg and kicked out at them.  They shook but held firm.

“Open the fucking doors!” He barked as he quickly studied the frames, top and bottom.

She heard the lift doors open down the hall.  Security were almost here.  They’d sort him out.  How dare he act like he owned the place?  Bond drew out a gun and glared at her.

“Last chance.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She told him.

She deliberately crossed her arms and then shrieked as Bond fired off two shots in quick succession.  With another kick he booted the doors and they flew open, crashing into the walls, their locks destroyed.  The three-man security team bundled into the reception area just after he marched away.

“Get him!” she shouted at them, “He’s gone insane!”

Unable to resist seeing them take down the rogue agent, she crept up the hallway after them.  Bond was almost at the other end of the corridor before Conroy emerged from a patient room, a sidearm in her hand.

“Bond! I might have known.”

At the sight of the doctor, Bond lowered his weapon.  As did Conroy.  And the security team.  Peterson started to get the idea that things weren’t going to pan out quite the way she’d planned…

“Sorry Doctor,” the chief security operative said, “the code one alarm was tripped.  We didn’t know it was Bond…”

Peterson was amazed to see Conroy give a tight smile to the security team.

“That’s quite alright,” she assured them and then turned to Bond. “James.”  The agent rushed up to her, suddenly seeming smaller in his relief at seeing her.

“Doctor Conroy, please.  Where is he?  Is he in here? I need to see him.”

 “Stand down chaps.  Come on Bond.  My God, anyone would think he was dying…”  She waved Bond into the room.  He pushed past her in his haste.  “Give me five minutes and I’ll come back out and assess the damage.  As for you.” She turned her attention to Peterson, “You and I are going to have a little conversation about the correct handling of Double 0 agents.”

Peterson’s stomach sank as she watched Conroy go into the room, the size ten wedding dress quite forgotten.

 

_** Tom ** _

It was Tanner who’d taken Q down to Medical.

This bug, virus, whatever-it-was, had struck when he’d got home from work the previous evening.  He’d thought he’d had indigestion when he got into his car but by the time he was parked up outside their block of flats he felt sick to his stomach.  He’d barely made it in through the door before he was rushing to the bathroom and throwing up.  By ten o’clock he was sitting on the loo with a bucket between his knees alternating between wishing James was there to look after him and thanking God that he couldn’t see him like that.

He’d woken that morning after barely an hour of sleep feeling light-headed but convinced himself it was down to his lack of food rather than any lingering symptoms.  He similarly kidded himself that the pain in his stomach was down to it being utterly empty, its contents having been forcibly ejected the night before.  In any case, he had a department heads meeting to attend so he washed his face, put on a fresh shirt and went into work.

The meeting was interrupted after ten minutes by Q abruptly wheeling himself out of the room and into the bathroom.   They lasted another eighteen minutes before he dashed off again, muttering his apologies.  When, half an hour after that, he made it halfway to the door before throwing up into a waste paper bin. Tanner had firmly pushed him the rest of the way out of the room and straight down to Medical while he was still retching.

Conroy had taken one look at him and put him to bed and then everything had gone wrong.  He’d tried to sleep _but then Conroy did something to him which mended his legs but it felt wrong so he was running, trying to get away from James and not understanding why he didn’t want his husband to know that his legs were fine.  Then he was eating in a restaurant but everything tasted like plastic and the more delicious the food looked the worst it tasted and James wanted him to eat but he felt like crying because it all tasted so awful and then someone grabbed him from behind and was squeezing him so tight his stomach hurt and then someone else was cleaning him and he wanted to shout that he was disabled not a fucking baby and he cried because it was all wrong and he was so hot he was shivering and everything burned like ice…_

The sound of gunshots cut through the fog of his mind and he moaned, his dreams turning into a firefight and all the while people were talking like there was nothing wrong.

_“How is he?”_

_“He came in this morning, he said he’d been vomiting with diarrhoea since around teatime last night.  He only wanted something to stop the sickness but his temperature was through the roof.  I thought it best to keep him here for a spell.  It was the right call, he’s been delirious all afternoon.”_

_“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”_

_“We’re running tests but we’re pretty sure it’s just food poisoning.  We’ll know for sure in the morning.  I’ve been washing him down with cool water trying to make him more comfortable.  I’ve also had to clean him up a few times.  I’ve made sure no-one else has seen him like that though.”_

_“Thank you.  Can I stay with him now?”_

_“It’s almost as if you think I could stop you… Look, I’ll come back in a while.  I have a security team to stand down, a maintenance crew to call and a nurse to bollock.”_

_“I’m sorry about your doors.”_

Q shifted as he realised that this voice was James’s and that he didn’t sound very sorry at all, he sounded worried.  He tried to speak and could only whine.  He shivered as he was touched.  A large calloused hand, different to the hands that had cleaned him and turned him, smoothed down his side and he whimpered as he realised he was naked, the sheet he was covered in sticking to his skin.  The hand pushed Q’s sweaty hair back off his face and James murmured his name.  Q frowned and shifted as he struggled to wake up.

“Mmm…’ames?”

“I’m here baby boy.”

“Heard shots…  Did… d’you kill a’one?”

Bond laughed and kissed his burning forehead.

“No my love, I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Good.  Tha’s good… Co’roy wou’ be pissed off a’ you…” he slurred. 

The burning ice returned and he shivered violently.

“So hot…”

Q sighed as a cool cloth was pressed to his forehead.

 “I know darling.  Just relax and we’ll have you better and home in no time.”

Q clung to James’s softly spoken words, relieved beyond measure that he was finally there with him.  The cloth continued its path over his chest.  Q relaxed into the sensation but then grimaced and curled over, moaning.  The tight pain in his stomach suddenly intensifying until he knew he was going to puke again. He coughed up a thin clear drool into the cardboard bowl James had placed under his face.  He stroked his back as he shuddered through the empty retching.  He obviously had nothing left to throw up but that didn’t stop his stomach from wanting to turn itself inside out.  Once he settled, Bond wiped his face for him again.

“You poor thing.  Go to back sleep Tom,” he soothed, pressing his lips to his forehead once more.  “I’m here to look after you now.”

Q’s hand groped over the bedspread until he found his husband’s.  It briefly tightened as he closed his eyes once more.

 

**_ Susan _ **

Since taking on her post at MI6, Doctor Susan Conroy couldn’t say that her working days were dull.

The Double 0 program produced some of the finest agents in the world.  She only had a vague idea of the kinds of missions they ran through the injuries she treated them for but one thing she knew for certain was that, but for the grace of God, they could all have ended up in the nuthatch. 

It had taken a matter of moments to dismiss the security team and to ask them to take that bloody useless excuse for a nurse with them.  She wanted her out of her sight.  Off the premises.  Let HR deal with her in the morning.  What was she thinking?  Trying to stand between a Double 0 agent and his sick partner.  Why the hell hadn’t she followed protocol and called Conroy immediately?  And of all the agents to try it on with she’d chosen James bloody Bond the most dangerous of the lot.  She paused in her search for the extension number for the maintenance department. Or was he?  Certainly when she’d joined MI6 ten years before he’d made her very nervous indeed, not that she ever saw that much of him.  The obstinate bugger would probably rather sew his own leg back on with embroidery thread than come to Medical.  But now ever since she’d heard he’d married the quartermaster; that lovely young genius, Bond had… she hesitated to think the word ‘mellowed’.

She called maintenance and asked them to come and fix her doors before remembering to quickly check in on Dawkins.  She then headed back to Q’s room.  She opened the door quietly and paused.  Q was no longer in his bed but sitting on his husband’s lap, his tousled head resting on Bond’s shoulder.  Bond had wrapped the sheet around his waist before settling them in the armchair by the bed.  Q was shivering but the cardboard bowl in his lap was empty.  They hadn’t noticed her enter and she was about to say something when Q made a small sound of distress and buried his face in Bond’s neck.  The agent immediately stroked his back with a gentleness Conroy would never have believed him capable of.

“Come on baby boy, you’re alright, you’re alright…” He crooned, kissing his sodden hairline.  Q sobbed quietly and Conroy guessed he was more asleep than awake, his delirium still gripping him.  She stepped forward.  Bond’s eyes flashed up and for a split second Conroy could see the killer in them.  He relaxed as he recognised her and his attention immediately went back to Q.

“How’s he doing?” she asked.  Bond didn’t take his eyes off Q as he answered.

“He needed to pee so I took him to the bathroom and cleaned him up a little.  He’s just so hot… I don’t know how to make him feel better.  He said it was easier sitting up… he felt less sick but he’s barely with me.”  He looked up at her then, naked fear in his eyes.  “I know it’s just a bug but he’s usually so strong and I don’t know what to do.”  She licked her lips and chose her next words carefully.

“Commander… I know Q doesn’t like to be singled out for special treatment but if anyone else had come to see me today with these symptoms I would probably have sent them straight home with instructions to drink as much water as they could and wait for it to flush out of their system.”  Bond stared at her impassively, his hand still stroking his husband’s flank. “What I’m saying is, I don’t think this is anything to worry about.  He’s exhausted from throwing up and not sleeping for over twenty-four hours but he’ll be fine in a couple of days.  I just couldn’t bear to send him home to struggle once I realised you were away on a mission.  It’s bad enough when you’re able-bodied and you’re running to the toilet every two minutes but when you’re in a wheelchair…  I don’t think you would have thanked me for making him cope with this on his own.”  A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

“I would have been furious.”

“I know.  Look, I know I’m not getting rid of you anytime soon so what say I remake the bed and you two get comfortable?”  Bond nodded and watched as she stripped off the bedding and bundled it, ready to go into the hamper in the hallway.  She made short work of wiping down the mattress and then replacing the linen.  She turned back the top sheet and laid a blanket across the foot of the bed.  “You don’t need this now but hopefully he’ll start to cool down before the night is through.”

Before moving him Conroy took Q’s temperature again.  It had dropped ever so slightly but was still very high.  As she updated his notes, Bond carefully unwrapped the sheet from around Q and lifted him onto the bed.  Conroy had inclined the top end so his shoulders were raised.  A pillow supported his head as he dozed.  Bond stood and stripped off his suit jacket and Conroy was alarmed to see a large patch of blood on his once-white shirt which trailed down to the top of his trousers.

“Bond!  Jesus, have you been shot?”

Bond looked down as if noticing the stain for the first time.

“Oh that.  Stabbed.  It’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.  Take your clothes off.” 

Bond smirked.

“Are you trying to seduce me doctor?”

She huffed. 

“I’m trying to stop you from bleeding all over my patient!” 

Bond undid his shirt and couldn’t quite stop his grimace as he peeled it away from his body.  She bent for a closer look.  The wound was four inches long and twisted.  One end looked particularly deep.

“You need stitches.  For Christ’s sake, were you even going to get this seen to?”

“Probably not…”

She pointed at the small bathroom attached to the room.

“Go and get cleaned up before you get on those nice fresh sheets.  I’ll get a suture kit.”

When she came back five minutes later Bond was in the small bed, stripped to his underpants and curled around Q.

“I think he is cooling down.” He whispered.  She smiled.

“His temperature has dropped a little.  I had a feeling it wouldn’t last long.  These bugs knock the hell out of you but once they’re out of your system you soon recover.  That was why I resisted to urge to give him anything that would stop his vomiting.  I’ll leave a jug of water by the bed.  If he wakes, try to encourage him to drink little and often.  If the sickness persists I may resort to putting him on a saline drip in the morning.”  She put on a pair of nitrile gloves.  “Right, let’s have a look at you.” 

She worked quickly, applying three butterfly stitches to his temple and cleaning up the small wounds on his knuckles before sewing up his side.  When she was done, he had thirteen sutures and half a dozen more butterfly stitches just under his ribs.  She attached a dressing pad over the lot and then threw the rubbish in the bin.  When she turned back she was amused to see Bond’s head was resting next to Q’s and he was snoring gently, his arms wrapped around him protectively.  She huffed out a quiet laugh.  Only a Double 0 could fall asleep whilst being sewn up.

She picked up the pile of dirty bedding by the door and looked back at the bed, considering the two men.  The Quartermaster who marshalled an entire army of technicians and agents.  The man who once singlehandedly fought off a cyber-attack on the Bank of England for over twenty hours before eventually outwitting the hackers.  The man who, legend had it, once punched 006 in the balls for referring to him as ‘Davros’ in a debriefing.  Next to him was the cold-blooded agent who killed without mercy.  The man who once walked into medical on a leg he’d broken three days before.  The man who’d had five years’ worth of psych evaluations redacted on the old M’s express order.

She realised that, in a way, she was seeing neither of these men as she stood and watched them sleep.  Instead she simply saw two people who loved each other completely and absolutely.  Q muttered in his sleep and Bond instinctively drew him to his chest, soothing him without really waking himself.  She smiled as she turned and left them to their dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you'd like to join me, I'm still doing my thing over at iambid.tumblr.com. Flailing over cute kitties, hot actors and men who, in all likelihood, are displaying a bit more flesh than their mothers would approve of.


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